


De Profundis (The Wartime Romance Remix)

by Woad



Category: Marvel Noir
Genre: Amnesia, First Kiss, Kidnapping, M/M, Memory Loss, Mistaken for Being in a Relationship, Misunderstandings, Recovery, Temporary Amnesia, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-20 14:02:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9494723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woad/pseuds/Woad
Summary: Tony was kidnapped and his memories altered in a bid to make him the next Zemo. He was rescued, but now he's dealing with the aftermath.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [navaan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/navaan/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Accidental Romance](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8898808) by [navaan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/navaan/pseuds/navaan). 



Tony is lying on a flat, rugged army cot. It's olive drab, just like the tent, and nearly everything else in the army. He’s almost back to breathing normally now, his chest rising and falling in shallow little intakes of air instead of desperate gasps. His heart—and the repulsor pump that powers it—have also quieted. It seems that for today, neither will give out on him.

He’s lucky that the Commandos found him, the doctor told him. _Your mind was almost gone._

He's putting it delicately. To be honest, not all of Tony has come back. _Yet_ , the doctor insists, and he wonder's when  _yet_ will finally arrive.

There are two things that Tony can remember with absolute clarity. The first is being held down, hands forcing an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth, the bitter taste and sting of the _ZEMO_ gas mixture in his lungs, and the hallucinogenic divorce of his mind from body. He had drifted untethered after that, seen impossible things and in some cases _been_ them—the dead coming back to life, apes that talked, Gods walking among mortals, men and women with the kind of fantastic powers he used to go chasing after...

The second thing that Tony remembers is waking up: his blurry vision slowly resolving onto worried blue eyes, a blond head bent over Tony just inches away, like something out of a fairy tale. The man’s dogtags had dangled out of his uniform, and Tony had caught a glimpse of the name _Rogers_ engraved in the shining metal. He hadn't managed to catch the first name before the man’s deep voice commanded his attention.

_“Tony? Tony, are you with me?”_

And Tony had been left with the impression that there was really only one answer to that question. _Yes. Wholly and completely._

Everything before those two things is fuzzy, and everything after is muddled. The doctor said Tony blacked out—nearly went into cardiac arrest from the shock of a sudden _ZEMO_ withdrawl. He refuses to elaborate any further, which is just maddening.

The tent flap opens, and for a moment Tony thinks it might be the devil himself. Immediately, he's relieved to see it's one of the nurses instead—Danvers. She's tall and solid built, and she looks like she could easily be out there soldiering with the men if push came to shove. She's got the grit to go with it too. He’s learned in the short time that he’s been in her care that she’s not the coddling sort, which is both boon and bane, depending on what Tony wants.

“How are you feeling today?” she asks. “Anything coming back?”

“Does a powerful hankering for a stiff drink count?”

She dips a starched rag in a bowl of antiseptic and makes a motion for him to turn over so that she can tend to the cut above his left eye. “You and everyone else in this war. No.”

She dabs at his brow and it burns, but she shows no sympathy when Tony hisses and winces.

“Baby,” she scolds in mock disparagement.

“Yes, darling?”

His cheek wrings a smile out of her. He hopes it’s enough to get some information out of her as well. The doctor has been steadfastly tight lipped when Tony brings his rescuer’s name up, and it’s driving him crazy. When Tony closes his eyes, all he can see is the glint of those dogtags, and he’s dying to know more.

“The man who found me seemed to know me, but he hasn't been by to visit. Any idea who he is?”

Danvers dabs at the cut above his eye again. “Captain Rogers? I imagine he's still on special assignment. He was here the day you were brought in, but was dispatched that night.”

“We know one another?”

“Sure,” Danvers says. “You’ve worked together before.”

Tony bites his bottom lip. That wasn’t exactly the answer he was hoping for. From the way the man looked at him, Tony got the distinct impression there was much more there than a working relationship.

“What’s his first name?”

Danvers looks amused. “Steve. Ring any bells?”

Tony shakes his head.

“He’ll be back soon,” Danvers promises. “He asked to see you when you were awake again.” She nods at the pile of pulps next to Tony. “He’s the one who left those. He was hoping they might jog your memory.”

Tony glances at the pile of _Marvels_ magazines. There’s someone in them named Tony who plays the chief hero, but if any of it is true, Tony doesn’t remember a shred of it. “Hope I won’t disappoint,” he says truthfully.

Danvers pats him on the shoulder, the closest she gets to warm and friendly. “I’m sure it’ll come back in time.”

She leaves Tony after she’s checked him over thoroughly, and he’s left with nothing with which to occupy himself, so he resigns himself to going back through the stack of _Marvels_ , hoping that something will pry open his lost memories.

* * *

Tony drifts back into consciousness when the sun is down. He can smell the smoke of campfires and hear a duet of crickets and wind rustling through the pines that lie just beyond the perimeter of the camp.

“How is he?” Tony hears that familiar, warm voice from beyond the tent. Steve is back. The thought sends his heart fluttering.

“He was up this afternoon and asking about you,” Danvers replies, voice uncharacteristically hushed. "Do you still want to see him?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The canvas of the tent rustles, admitting the man, and Tony watches the large silhouette striding silently toward him through slitted eyelids. In the dim lighting Tony sees he's still in a dusty, battered uniform, like he just got back and came straight here. If the road-weariness bothers him, it doesn't show. Steve takes a seat on the ground next to Tony’s cot and one of his hands reach out to the pile of _Marvels_ , leafing through them, as though curious as to what Tony has read.

“I’ve gone through them all,” Tony says abruptly, and the man jumps.

“Didn’t realize you were awake,” he apologizes, before getting up and drawing something from his pocket—a matchbox, it turns out. Tony smells sulfur, and then a prick of flame springs to life in Steve’s hands as he lights a nearby kerosene lamp.

Briefly, Tony squints at the brightness, before his eyes adjust. He sees that not only are Steve's clothes ripped up, so is he. He's got dried blood caked around one temple, and a nasty shiner.

“Did they do anything?” Steve asks, oblivious to Tony's horror over his appearance. He's plainly referring to the magazines as he settles down on the ground next to Tony again.

“No.”

“That’s too bad.”

“I suppose...What happened to you?"

Steve blinks, then grins. "Oh, my face? Nothing. Looks worse than it is. On purpose."

This time it's Tony's turn to be surprised. "You had someone give you a black eye..."

"Bucky thought it would be the perfect excuse to go see the doc...and by extension, you." Steve chews on the inside of his lip, then admits, “they didn’t want me to see you at all at first.”

“Doesn’t surprise me. Danvers was the one to spill the beans on you. Know why the doc's playing quarantine?”

Steve snorts. “Yeah. Blue ticket scare. When you woke up, you tried to kiss me in front of all the Commandos.”

Tony’s mind shorts out. _Blue ticket_ dredges up deep feelings of dread and antipathy—and with it memories—a sword of Damocles swinging above his head. But it's made all the worse by the way Steve says it, like it’s a funny joke to be swept aside.

“We’re not together?” The disappointment in his voice is a dead giveaway. But Tony doesn’t care if this goes to General Fury or if he’s sent home in disgrace. He has to know. He knows the look he saw in Steve's eyes. The memory of it stands out all the brighter against the void carved into his mind by the _ZEMO_ gas. So right there, Tony decides to lay down all his chips, to bet his life away.

He sees Steve pause, as though frozen in place by the question. He looks like a fox, eyeing what might well be bait, wary of a snare. “No, we’re not.”

There’s an awkward spell of silence that follows, and Tony expects Steve to get up and leave. But he doesn’t. Steve doesn’t strike Tony as the shy sort, but he sounds downright bashful when he asks, “did you think we were? Together, I mean.”

“How could I not?” It sounds accusatory and bitter, and as soon as it’s out of Tony’s mouth he wishes he could take it back and say it differently.

But then Steve's hand is on the back of Tony's, squeezing gently. And even though it’s perhaps the most inelegant way Tony has ever expressed himself—he certainly seemed more suave in _Marvels—_ Steve looks like he’s over the moon.

And this time it’s Steve who tries to kiss Tony. After overcoming the surprise of it, Tony is all too glad to let Steve draw them together, welcoming the soft lips with his own and the long, callused fingers that tangle in his beard. When they part again, it isn't nearly enough. 

But Steve puts a hand to his shoulder, as if belaying that unspoken thought. “I shouldn’t. Not like this. I don't want to take advantage."

Tony is all too happy to be taken advantage of if it means having Steve in this warm, intimate way. But the other man seems distinctly uncomfortable, so Tony nods.

If retrieving his memories involves Steve, then it can’t be all that bad. And the reward at the end of the journey sounds like it will prove to be altogether delightful.


End file.
